Page 125 of The Last Night in London
The one bright spot had been the survival of St. Paul’s during the brutal air raid on the twenty-ninth of December. The WVS had assigned Eva to tea duty for the firemen known as the St. Paul’s Watch. She’d sat in the cavernous crypt under a vaulted arch near Lord Nelson’s tomb, amid the firemen’s coats and hats, with a makeshift tea cart and tins of biscuits and pitchers of milk. She had no idea that Hitler had chosen that night for the Luftwaffe to destroy the landmark cathedral—along with what remained of the British people’s morale.
The first wave of planes came as a new shift was suiting up. The lights flickered, and the floor echoed with the impact of shells exploding nearby. Richard Kobylt, a teacher by day at Turner’s Free School for Poor Boys, held tight to his hat and looked at Eva with wide eyes. “Hitler’s angry tonight, miss. Not going to be many tea breaks for us, I’m thinking.”
And there hadn’t been. The church was hit that night by twenty-eight incendiaries, each burning ember and piece of falling ash doused by the tireless firemen, who together saved Wren’s architectural masterpiece from disaster.
At dawn, Eva climbed out of the crypt, dismayed to see daylight through the east-end wall of the cathedral, but amazed that the church seemed relatively unscathed. As she made her way back home, passing through the smoking streets that surrounded St. Paul’s, the dome of the church hung over the pinkening sky of the burning city like a phoenix. It was a miracle in a city desperate for miracles.
As the gray days progressed and her baby grew inside her,Precious became quieter and seemed to turn inward. Eva found herself missing her friend’s constant chatter and perpetual good mood; she dreaded returning home from running her daily errands, making a round of the shops clutching her ration books, to see that her friend still sat by the front window, not having moved, an untouched plate of food long since grown cold beside her.
Eva worried about Precious and her despondency, her lack of interest in everything. She was desperate to reach out to Sophia, but Sophia was mourning the loss of her daughter, stillborn during an air raid in their small basement shelter in late January.
In desperation, Eva broke down and confided in David. It was he who told her that Paul’s ship had been sent to the northern coast of Africa and sunk by a German U-boat, all souls aboard lost. He couldn’t tell her where it had happened, as that was classified, but it didn’t matter. Paul was gone and, along with him, Eva’s remaining hope of helping Precious and her unborn baby.
She’d dreaded telling Precious, but when she shared the news, Precious simply nodded, then returned to watching sleet fall from the sky.
On a particularly nasty day in February, Eva received a note from Sophia inviting her and Alex to the theater. Though no air raid interrupted the evening, Eva felt on edge, a tremor shaking the air around her. Alex seemed to be watching her closely, measuring her words. They never spoke of Georgina, or Eva’s weekly trips to Chester Terrace, or anything that wasn’t banal and mundane. Eva still retrieved books from the London Library. And each day she waited to hear from Graham. To learn she was free of Alex. As each day passed without word from Graham, she felt more and more on edge, balancing on a precipice where equal disaster waited on either side.
During the intermission, while the men retired to smoke their cigars, Sophia took Eva by the elbow and walked slowly with her toward the women’s powder room. As if anticipating the question Eva wouldn’t ask, she said, “Graham is fine. He’s working hard, as is David, and has been doing quite a bit of traveling. I don’t think eitherof them is getting enough sleep, but Graham is well.” She dug into her evening bag. “I have something for you. I thought you might want it.”
She gave Eva a photograph of Graham, an official one of him in his RAF uniform. The boyish grin on his face softened the severity of the photo. It was the way Eva pictured him in her mind, his head slightly tilted, his eyes full of light and humor. This was the man she loved. The man for whom she’d wait forever.
“Thank you,” Eva said, pressing it to her heart. “Thank you so much.” She opened her purse and slipped it inside, making sure it wasn’t next to the cigarette case, as if it might get soiled.
A feeling like the start of a fever crept into Eva’s throat, making her dizzy. “To forgive the unforgivable. Graham said that to me.”
Sophia gently touched Eva’s chin. “You poor dear.”
“What do you mean?”
Sophia didn’t drop her gaze. “I know things that I shouldn’t. Being confined to bed above my husband’s office was quite enlightening.” She didn’t smile. “I know about Precious.”
“I didn’t want to tell you. Because...” She couldn’t finish.
“Because you knew it would hurt me. Here I am, a married, respectable woman with a wonderful husband who would make a wonderful father, and for some reason, we are not permitted to have children. Yet, Precious, well... Is she due soon?”
Eva nodded. “Yes. She thinks April. She won’t see a doctor, so she’s only guessing. She says that her mother had very quick and easy deliveries, and she isn’t afraid of childbirth, so she’s made no plans.”
Sophia studied Eva’s face, searching for something. “A woman usually knows these things. With all of my pregnancies, I knew without my doctor telling me when each of them had been conceived.” Her eyes hardened, as if she were remembering three babies, dead before they’d had a chance to live. “David says that the baby’s father was a sailor.”
“Killed in action. And Precious is reluctant to attempt contact with his family. Or her own, for that matter.”
“Has she told you much about the baby’s father?”
“I met him. Once. He was quite tall, and broad, and had very dark curly hair. That’s all I remember of him.”
Sophia nodded, her gaze still on Eva’s face. “Will you promise to call me when her pains begin? My doctor is wonderful. I’ll have him come to her, see her safely through. It’s the least I can do.”
“What do you mean?”
Sophia seemed flustered, waving her hands in front of her face. “Only that I know how difficult childbirth can be. She’ll need a good doctor.”
“Of course. That’s reassuring, although as I said, Precious believes she won’t have any trouble. Not that I have any intention of letting her find out on her own.”
Sophia leaned closer. “You will take care of her?”
“Of course. I love her like a sister. I couldn’t desert her now. Why might you think otherwise?”
Instead of answering, Sophia stepped back and smiled as David and Alex approached.
